Dust Angel
by Demented Inu
Summary: Tatsumi is dark as his shadow, Tsuzuki as fragile and dirty as an angel of dust. Tatsumi/Tsuzuki.


"We are but dust and shadow."

Tatsumi isn't sure what time it is when Tsuzuki comes to his door. He only knows that it's late, the half-full moon reflected perfectly in those empty purple eyes, and Tsuzuki's hands are squeezing one another as if searching for unity. The stars overhead complement Tsuzuki's skin perfectly, the light glinting off his hair, and Tatsumi stills his hands and doesn't quite let go.

"It's late," Tsuzuki whispers, but Tatsumi only leads him inside. Speech isn't necessary to let Tatsumi know that something is troubling the other man, something dark and uncertain. It's there in those eyes of his, as the warmth of the kitchen floods over them both, and Tatsumi wonders if it's really the kitchen that's so warm or if it's simply the joy of touching Tsuzuki's palm with his fingers.

Tsuzuki looks a little too out-of-place, tie loosened and hair mussed, surrounded by perfectly tidy shelves. Tatsumi looks at him like he always does when they're not at work, trying to convey the tumultuous shadow of his emotions with a single expression. Tsuzuki isn't an empathy, and can't possibly read the desperate need to remain calm etched into Tatsumi's face, and his eyes are eerily, luminously violet as they refuse to leave Tatsumi's own.

Sometimes, Tatsumi thinks that Tsuzuki can feel it too. The overwhelming desire whenever they meet, the ache in his chest when Tsuzuki looks at him with those sad, empty eyes. Sometimes, Tatsumi thinks that Tsuzuki loves him, when they touch hands and when Tsuzuki shivers in his arms after drinking. But his theories are shattered when he sees the desperation, and Tatsumi realizes that what Tsuzuki feels is comfort, is friendship, not love.

He tends to hide behind his smiles, Tsuzuki does, but Tatsumi can see the sadness behind it, no matter how Tsuzuki tries to keep that side of himself hidden in shadow. Tatsumi is still holding Tsuzuki's hands, at chest height, but only because he knows that Tsuzuki is afraid to let go. They stand a little too close and Tatsumi's breathing is a little too heavy, heartbeat in his ears as an imitation of life.

Tsuzuki's mouth is perfect, lips parted only slightly, and Tatsumi can't understand anything about the man except how very perfect he is. His fingernails scrape against Tsuzuki's palm, and all is somehow still perfect, the light brightening the emotionless eyes.

Most would say that Tsuzuki is made of glass, fragile, had to be handled with care. But Tatsumi knows that he is stronger than that. He had withstood possession, had driven the devil from him, had taken Touda's black flames and survived. If anything, the man is built of concrete.

But tonight, he looks just as fragile as the rest of the Ministry thought him to be, hands trembling as well as his bottom lip, and those eyes so very empty. Still, Tatsumi doesn't see a creature of glass, a porcelain figure that will shatter if dropped. No, Tatsumi only sees the remains of a life almost forgotten. He sees an angel of dust, a perfection that would scatter across the ground no matter how you handle it.

"Tsuzuki," he says, if only for the comfort of saying it again.

Tsuzuki steps a little closer, as if Tatsumi is warm in comparison to the cold of Tsuzuki's soul.

Tsuzuki is made of dust, and would get carried away by a passing wind if given the chance.

Tatsumi finds himself backing away from Tsuzuki's need for comfort like he never did before, his hands leaving Tsuzuki's in his attempt to escape. He can never get away and he knows it even as his back hits the counter and Tsuzuki's hands are on either side of him, those eyes remaining to be vacant.

"Please…" Tsuzuki's voice is so familiar to his ears, even the tone, a broken one that he would never be able to mend. "Please don't tell me no…"

"Stop…" Tatsumi whispers, even though Tsuzuki presses up against him, hands moving over Tatsumi's chest.

IHold me, hurt me, just don't tell me no./I

Tatsumi is made of shadow. Nothing but the darkness, and his heart is constricting at Tsuzuki's words. Would I ever tell you no? he thinks, and suddenly, he finds that even if he'd wanted to before, he can't now.

There is nothing dangerous in Tsuzuki's tone. But the man's eyes are dangerous, threatening to overwhelm Tatsumi's shadows with concern, with fear, with acceptance, with…

With love…

It has been two days since Kyoto, and already Tsuzuki is seeking solace.

Tatsumi gives it for the first time, allowing his shadows to open up to the light, and he strokes Tsuzuki's hair and allows him to weep into his shirt.

For the moment, Tatsumi is content to kiss him, and Tsuzuki just keeps holding on.


End file.
